Memoirs of a Freeze Ray
by NefarioussNess
Summary: Penny had been his chain to morality and sanity, but with her gone there was nothing stopping him from committing felonies to achieve his evil ends. At first he had felt the crushing weight of guilt, pain, and sorrow for his loss. But over the years that pain had ebbed away, replaced with an untapped malice that yearned to be unleashed.
1. Everything You Ever

**Note: ** _This will end up being a huge, multi-crossover fic. But due to the limited amount of tags, I won't be able to put all of the fandoms involved in it. I apologize for seemingly misleading people. This will also be found on AO3 under the same username, in case you want to see all of the tags._

* * *

Having everything you ever wanted _sucked_ in the beginning. He had everything except for the one person he was striving to acquire. All of the plots, schemes, and plans were meant to unite him and Penny for eternity. Well, a _lifetime_, but who's really going to get nick-picky about the specifics?

It had been five years since… the accident. An exact sixty (or so, he was kind of rounding up the numbers here) months since he had defeated his arch nemesis, the despicable Captain Hammer. But it felt like eons since Billy last felt alive.

There were only so many citizens that he could easily terrorise and only so many banks he could rob with his Freeze Ray before the whole shtick became stale and tasteless on his taste buds. Billy needed a new goal; something to get his mind off of his stupid mistakes.

And what better way than to steal a time machine?

Billy was a modest guy; he could easily admit that. He knew that even with all of the money in Detroit he couldn't possibly buy the technology to construct his own time machine. Hell, the Freeze Ray had been a pain to put together in the first place!

What he needed was alien technology.

There had been sightings, in recent years, about a mysterious blue box. It would magically appear and disappear on a whim, with dozens of eyewitness accounts. Billy had found hundreds of blog entries, videos, and disturbing reports on the vast expanse of the Internet. Apparently those attacks on London every Christmas for the past decade hadn't been a hoax at all!

The most he researched the phenomena, the more he got curious.

The more he got curious, the more he began to covet the item.

Penny had been his chain to morality and sanity, but with her gone there was nothing stopping him from committing felonies to achieve his evil ends. At first he had felt the crushing weight of guilt, pain, and sorrow for his loss. But over the years that pain had ebbed away, replaced with an untapped malice that yearned to be unleashed. And Billy was ready to hack off the restraints and let it run wild.

But how to distract the weirdo that owned the box long enough to steal it from him? Billy pondered this for weeks, and when he finally did come to the conclusion, he felt like an idiot for not realizing it before.

He looked at his trusty Freeze Ray, and grinned.

* * *

Billy had decided to _not_ tell the Evil League of Evil of his nefarious plan. Besides, once he acquired the time machine he could simply go back and not miss any of the meetings at all! What Bad Horse doesn't know won't annihilate him and all that jazz.

Then it struck him; go back in time? Yes, with a time machine it would be possible. But could he really go back to that night and—?

Billy trembled at the thought.

He buttoned up his red lab coat and pulled on his gloves, smiling at himself in the mirror. Placing his goggles on his head, Billy gave himself a once-over, feeling satisfied with the look.

"Moist!" he shouted, grabbing his Freeze Ray from the shelf. "Don't wait up for me, I'm going out!"

Moist came into Billy's room, saw his attire and asked, "You sure you don't need my assistance with…? I'm just going to guess that you have a new evil plot that you have to attend to."

"Indeed I am!" Billy exclaimed, grinning at his friend. "But this is a solo mission. You stay here. Keep alert in case anyone shows up. Act normal as usual, and stay wet."

"That reminds me," Moist said, scratching the back of his neck, "I'm having a couple of 'friends' over tonight, if you know what I mean."

But Billy was no longer listening. The plan was simple, yet perfect. With no Captain Hammer to stop him, there was a zero percent chance for screw-ups.

"Awesome," Billy said, storming happily out of their apartment. "I'll see you later, Moist!"

* * *

Based on sightings from the last century, the blue time machine had a tendency to show up in either London or New York City. With Billy's latest invention, the Teleporter (wow, such an original name!), he was able to get to NYC in a matter of seconds.

The Teleporter was a watch that was carefully hidden underneath Billy's left glove. It's been overheating lately, and wouldn't teleport him more than a few feet. Pushing it to go several hundred miles caused it to completely fry its inner circuits, and nearly searing Billy's wrist when it imploded.

"Aw, crap!" Billy hissed. He tore the watch off of his wrist, and threw it on the ground, stomping on it out of frustration. He was stuck here in the Big Apple (somewhere in Battery Park, from what he could vaguely recognize), and so he prayed that the time machine would show up soon.

He'd been so single-minded about his scheme that he forgot to bring his wallet and phone. Without money or contacts, Billy was trapped.

He suddenly heard a whirring noise from behind him. Billy spun around, just as a blue police box materialized out of thin air.

It was about ten feet away from him, and looked just like the descriptions. It meshed well with the night sky, making it difficult to be seen by zooming passerbys.

This was his chance.

Billy quickly ducked behind a tree, and turned on the Freeze Ray. He peeked around, eyeing his target. The doors opened with a fluid swish, and out stepped a man in a tweed jacket and bowtie. Billy frowned. Was this the same guy? The hair was kind of the same, but he looked younger. He certainly wasn't dressed the same, but whatever. It was a frigging time machine he was after, the owner be damned!

The guy stepped out the box, looking around. There was a crease in his forehead, frowning. "New York?" he said. "Well, this wouldn't be the first time that we visited this place."

_Go, go, go, go, go, goooooo!_ Billy took aim, and pressed the button. Luckily, he had made a new version, lighter and easily portable. A stream of blue-white light streamed out of it, blasting the guy square in the chest. He backpedaled a bit, arms out in front of him from the impact.

The weirdo alien was frozen.

Billy grinned, and stepped out from behind the tree. He ran up to the guy, and pushed him to the side, causing him to fall over. Oops. Well, he should be OK.

Billy stepped into the time machine, closing the doors behind him. It had looked extremely tiny from the outside, but inside it was frigging huge!

Placing the Freeze Ray on the ground, Billy ran up to the control panel, tracing the buttons and gizmos with his gloved fingertips. All of Time was at the mercy of his hands.

He was the lord of Time. Was there a name for that?

Probably not. Very well, he shall come up with an additional title in order to further strike fear into the hearts of his enemies!

Dr. Horrible, Super Time Master! (He'd have to work on the title, but for the time being it worked.)

Billy pulled a lever, and the time machine began to shudder with life. It shook and he was suddenly thrown onto the panel from the force of the shift. He cackled, both from adrenaline and madness.

His latest plan was working beautifully.


	2. Talkin' 2 Myself

The Doctor found himself on the grass when he suddenly gained consciousness. Funny, he didn't remember going to sleep or being bashed over the head with anything.

He stood up, wiping the grass from his knees as he stood up. He was in New York City, in a small, deserted area called Battery Park. The moon was hanging in the sky, the stars twinkling around its circular face. The Doctor looked around; he was alone.

Alone…

Wait, where was the TARDIS? The Doctor spun around, panic fluttering in his chest. His hearts began to hammer against his ribcage when he noticed that she was gone. Poof! It's as if she had vanished into thin air!

Naturally, that's what has happened; it was in her nature to appear and disappear on a whim. But usually he was inside the TARDIS when that happened.

"Oh come on!" the Doctor shouted in despair. He raced across the park, swinging his head from side to side, as if the TARDIS would just magically materialize in front of him. But he remained the only occupant in the space.

She was gone.

Sexy had vanished.

Just then, a familiar whirring noise filled the air. The Doctor twisted his head to the side, and a huge smile eclipsed his face. The TARDIS suddenly appeared to his left, solidifying her presence in the encroaching darkness.

The Doctor leapt over to her, and hugged it as best as he could. "Don't scare me like that!" he said. The Doctor jumped back as the door opened suddenly. Out stepped a man with a thinning hairline, wearing a green jumper, a leather coat, and a slight scowl on his face.

"Dammit, I misjudged the landing again," he muttered. He spotted the Doctor, and frowned at him. "Who are you?"

"Who am _I_?" squeaked the Doctor. He pointed an accusing finger at the stranger. "Who are you? And what are you doing with the TARDIS?"

The stranger narrowed his eyes. "I'll ask again," he said. "Who are you, and how do you know about the TARDIS?"

"Because she's the TARDIS!" replied the Doctor. "I travel in her through time and space; I'd recognize her from anywhere! And unless you have to have a finely-detailed duplicate of her, then she's mine!"

"Yours?" scoffed the leather-clad man. "Sorry chum, but you must be confused in the head."

"Are you a Time Lord?"

"Obviously; how else would I have the TARDIS? How do you know about Time Lords?"

"Because I _am_ a Time Lord!" the Doctor explained. "Well, the last of them, anyway."

The stranger glared at him, and stepped out of the TARDIS. The Doctor backed up as he faced the severe scrutiny of the man's glare. His eyes were fiery and full of loathing, as if the Time Lord had insulted him in some way.

"That's impossible," the man growled, "because they're all… Well, I'm the last one. I'm the only one left."

The man's face looked familiar, though the Doctor couldn't recall at that moment. Did he meet him before? Then it hit him; it was so obvious.

"Ninth incarnation," the Doctor said, "So that would make you the eighth time we've regenerated into a new body."

"What are you talking…" the man's—or rather, his past self—voice trailed away, realization dawning on his face. "Oh, you have got to be joking me! I turn into—"—here he gestured at the Doctor in a disapproving manner—"this little bugger?"

"Yes you do—what you do mean by that?" scoffed the Doctor. He tugged at his hair. "At least we're regaining our hair with each regeneration!"

"Still not ginger, though," his former self grinned.

* * *

It's only happened a few times before. Running into his past regenerations, that is. The Doctor—it would be easier to call himself Eleven from this point on—wondered what could possibly possess the universe in order to allow him to have this reunion with himself. There was something going on, and Eleven had the suspicion that it had more to do than with Sexy disappearing.

"How could you let the TARDIS be stolen under your watch?!" Nine scowled, shaking his head.

"It was instantaneous!" Eleven protested, waving his arms around in frustration.

Nine snorted in disbelief. "Please tell me that our tenth incarnation was more responsible than this."

Nine was definitely a brooder, that's for sure.

"The décor is different on my TARDIS," said Eleven as he stepped inside, once their petty argument had finally ceased. Nine followed him in, closing the doors behind him.

"I'm guessing it's flashier," he said, "to accommodate your newfound youth."

"I apologize about that quip about your hair," Eleven groaned.

"Still not ginger, though."

"We'll cross that bridge once we get there!"

"Maybe with the twelfth," Nine muttered, walking up to the control panel. "Thirteenth, if we're lucky." He shimmied with some of the controls, and the TARDIS began to whir and shift. At least that was the same.

Eleven guessed that this was the Nine before Rose Tyler entered their—er, _his_; boy this was confusing—life. Fresh from the Time War, filled with the pain and guilt of it all. This was the Nine that didn't know that the Daleks were still out there—really, they were annoyingly persistent in staying constant within his—their—life.

"You said it was instantaneous?" Nine asked, snapping Eleven out of his thoughts. Eleven nodded, and Nine parroted the action.

"I have a hypothesis," Nine said, "and it involves stopping Time."

"Stopping time?" Eleven said. Time Lords were able to live for centuries and travel to the past and future with the aid of the TARDIS. But halting the flow altogether?

It was impossible.

"Exactly," continued Nine, "a brief disruption in Time would allow whoever to steal the TARDIS without having to incapacitate you first. The TARDIS wouldn't leave on its own accord without good reason."

"That's true," agreed Eleven. He walked up next to Nine, watching him as he pulled levers and pressed a various amount of buttons. "But who would have the power to do such a thing?"

"I have an idea of someone who could help us answer that question," Nine said. "Mind you, he's recovering from an experimental phase of his biological structure. Mostly sane, though."

"Mostly?" Eleven said. He looked at Nine, whose eyes were still fixed on the control panel. "Who are you talking about?"

"He worked at Oscorp in 2012 before going mad with 'saving the world'," Nine said. He finally turned to face Eleven, his face grim. "The name is Curt Connors. Hopefully, he'll be willing to help us out."


	3. I Like Trains

Dave kept glancing down at his phone, studying the text like it was going to be on an exam. Peter had wanted to have a look-around at the apartment at one thirty, and he was already ten minutes late.

_Stay cool, Dave. Traffic's probably slowing him down. _

But the thing is, he needed a new roommate ever since Bennett moved out to live with his girlfriend. He could respect his buddy's decision; he'd been with this girl for the last two years and they clearly need their own space. Walking in on them having… well, _one time_ was one too many.

"It was a spontaneous reaction!" Bennett had insisted. "We didn't plan it, it just happened! And I thought you would at the university until midnight!"

"It's OK," Dave had said. He wasn't mad, really. He could understand the sudden urges of the body, even though he's never engaged in it himself. Life had been so chaotic with school, work, and other magical happenstances for him and Becky to… Well, yeah. "Just warn me next time with a text or a sock on the doorknob."

Oh God, he was never going to get that image out of his head.

That was a month ago, and Dave really couldn't afford to pay rent for a two-room apartment by himself. He would've asked Becky, but she was away in Boston, working as a DJ for one of the better-known stations. Dave sighed; long-distance relationships _sucked._

But thank God for this Peter kid, who desperately needed a new place to stay in the upcoming months. Peter was going to start at the NYU this fall, which was perfect for Dave, who was going to start up a new job at the university once he graduated.

Just then the buzzer went off. Dave raced over to the door, nearly tripping over a box filled with papers and the Encantus.

Oh, shit.

"One moment!" Dave shouted as he hastily grabbed the box and shoved it into one of the empty cupboards. Slamming the cupboard door shut, he raced to the door, swinging it open.

Wow.

Dave stared at the teenager in front of him. He was about the same height as Dave, all lean and agile-looking. He wore a red hoodie, a pair of faded jeans, and pair of those hipster-looking glasses; the ones in the thick, plastic frames. Underneath his left arm was a skateboard, which had probably been his ride.

"I'm sorry I'm late," said the teenager, offering Dave his hand. Dave shook it, and was met with a firm, strong grip. Holy shit, he was not expecting _that_.

"No problem," said Dave, moving aside to let Peter in. "Was traffic bad?"

"Sort of," Peter said vaguely. He looked around, wincing. Dave thought it was from the state of apartment—he thought he had cleaned it pretty well—when he noticed the bruises on Peter's face in the changing light.

"Did you get in a fight?" Dave suddenly asked, and bit his lip. "I mean, uh, I can get you some ice for that."

Peter blinked, absentmindedly touching his face before nodding. "Yeah, thanks."

Five minutes later they were sitting in the tiny living room, a bag of frozen corn in Peter's hand and his skateboard resting across his lap. He gently applied the bag to his face, hissing slightly at the freezing cold surface.

"I swear this is not a bad neighbourhood," Dave said, watching Peter carefully. "But sometimes, crazy British guys break in and—OK, I'm just rambling."

Peter smiled. He pointed at his face with his free hand. "This has nothing to do with the area," he replied, "this just happens to me a lot."

"Good," Dave said, and then sputtered, "No, I don't mean that it's _good_ that you're getting beaten up, but uh—"

Peter laughed. It wasn't mocking, but light and friendly. Thank God; he didn't want to insult the guy and drive him away.

"I like you Dave," Peter said, prodding his face with the bag of corn. He gave off another one of those glorious smiles that he possessed.

Dave held his hands up. "Slow down buddy. I'm flattered, but I already have a girlfriend—"

"So do I," Peter replied, and Dave saw how his face lit up about that thought. Already they had that commonality; their brains turning to mush at the thought of a special girl.

Which prompted a concern out of Dave. "Just to tell you, my last roommate moved out because of an incident with his girlfriend here in this apartment." When Peter raised a confused eyebrow, Dave quickly added, "Involving me walking in on them. When they were naked. On the couch you're sitting on."

"Oh," Peter said, realization dawning on his face. "If I move in, I promise that Gwen and I won't surprise you like that." His face grew red, as if he had never fathomed the thought. It was kind of adorable, really.

_Says the guy that got his face pummelled in a fight,_ Dave thought sarcastically, but he held his tongue. He was finding that he was quickly warming up to the kid; he would beg him to stay on as a roommate if things fell through somehow.

* * *

It didn't take long to look around Dave's apartment. It was small, but seemed comfortable enough for two people. The rent was cheap compared to other places close to the university, and according to Dave the neighbourhood was relatively safe.

Peter didn't want to prejudge, but if someone as scrawny and harmless-looking as Dave could live here without being robbed, then it was overwhelmingly safe for someone like himself.

He liked Dave; his passive sarcasm was an appealing quality for some reason. And knowing someone outside of Queens would be a breath of fresh air. It's not like he didn't like anyone there, he just needed a new atmosphere to dissolve himself in.

Gwen would be moving into the city as well. Even without Dr. Connors she was still pursuing her internship at Oscorp, and would be attending the university as well. Flash had gotten a scholarship, and had happily insisted that he and Peter room together. Peter would've complied with the offer, until he heard about Dave's apartment.

"I'll get back to you soon," Peter told Dave, just as he was leaving. "I just have to talk to my aunt about this."

Dave nodded understandably. "She's helping you out with rent?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah; I haven't even told her that I was moving out yet."

"Oh, wow," said Dave, giving him a wide-eyed look. "You should, uh, break it to her gently?"

Peter laughed softly. "Don't worry, I will. I'll see you later."

* * *

The train was half-empty when he stepped onto it. Sleepy-eyed businessmen, mothers with small children, and stressed-out students occupied it. Peter looked around, doing his usual 'people watching'. When he was younger, he would always make up stories about the people he came across in public, based on what they wore and where they seemed to be headed off to. It served as a brief distraction while Aunt May bought the groceries or while he was waiting for Uncle Ben to pick him up from the bus stop.

But there was a set of faces that he always looked out for, and was always disappointed when he couldn't find them amongst the crowds.

"I think we missed our stop," said a voice across from Peter. He looked up, and saw a young couple staring intensely at an iPhone. A redheaded girl, probably eighteen or nineteen, was holding the phone, frowning slightly. Beside her was a boy her age, with messy brown hair and a defeated look on his face.

They must be new here. That or they never take the trains, which seemed like an impossible idea for any Neq York native.

"Hey," said Peter, causing the two to look up. The girl gave him a fixed, piercing look, as if awaiting a challenge from him. Peter gave her a friendly smile. "Sorry, I heard you guys, and maybe I can help. I'm from here, and I know the subway pretty well."

The girl fluttered her eyelashes. "Are you a student then? Maybe you can tell us how to get to the university then."

"Well, you're on the right train," Peter said. "Just stay on the blue line until you get to West 4th Street and 6th Avenue. You should end up on the west side of the campus."

The girl gave him a tight smile. "Thank you," she said. She lightly patted the boy's knee, who still looked distraught. "See, I told you I wouldn't let us get lost."

* * *

Peter decided to get off on 6th Avenue along with the young couple. It would be a lot faster if we just web-slinged home from that point on.

He looked up at the university, and suddenly noticed how dark the sky had gotten. Funny, it was barely three o'clock, and yet storm clouds were brewing, taking on a violent shade of purple and black. He watched as the redhead tugged the boy to the NYU, just as sheets of rain began to pour down on them.

Peter blinked away the heavy raindrops that clung to his eyelashes, and took off his glasses, pocketing them. He raced into an alleyway, and held out his wrist. A thick tendril of webbing shot out, and he jumped to begin swinging home.

The encroaching darkness was the perfect disguise for him, but Peter still worried about those storm clouds.


	4. Every Storm (Runs Out Of Rain)

The guy that gave them directions followed them off the blue line, only for him to rush off in the opposite direction. Lydia merely shrugged off the odd behaviour, and was immediately greeted with black skies and a cascade of rain.

Even though it only took a few moments to race to the doors, they still managed to get drenched.

Lydia shivered as she pulled Stiles along, who looked unaffected by the sudden downpour. She had checked the weather online before they left their hotel room this morning; sunny skies all week, it had said. She sighed heavily, and began to wring out the bottom of her dress.

Stiles was looking around, his hair plastered to his skull. Lydia rolled her eyes and reached up, swiping his wet bangs out of his eyes. Dark circles encompassed them, making the rest of his face look pale and hollow. His cheekbones were more prominent than they were six months ago, back before—

"No frowning," Lydia said sternly. She wrapped her arm around his, bending her elbow as the crook of his, and began to walk down the corridor of the NYU. She practically had to tug Stiles along, who had a faraway look on his face. Lydia bit her lip in frustration; that was his regular expression nowadays.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Lydia snatched it out, and rolled her eyes when she saw the caller ID. "I haven't _lost_ him," she greeted snippily.

On the other end, Scott gave out a static huff. "I heard that there was a storm happening there," he protested, "I was just making sure that he was alright."

"_We_ are doing just fine," Lydia said icily. "And if you were so worried that something bad was going to happen, why didn't you come along?"

Scott was silent, but Lydia already knew the answer. It was because of financial reasons. That, and Scott was working on gaining scholarships and grants in order to ease his mother's hysteria over college. This seemed counterproductive, since he was phoning Lydia from several states away.

"Lydia," said Stiles, and Lydia blinked. If he'd spoken any softer she might had missed hearing him. Silently, she handed him the iPhone, untangling their arms. Stiles took a step toward the wall, holding the phone up to his ear.

"Don't worry, we're at the university," Stiles muttered wearily. "Yeah, yeah. OK, yeah. 'Kay, I'll talk to you later. I'll phone you, don't worry. Tell your mom I said hi."

Stiles pressed 'End', and handed the phone back to Lydia, who took it wordlessly. She knew that the old Stiles would've gushed about how huge the city was and bitch about the complicated tram system with such energy in his voice and movements.

She was just beginning to get to know Stiles more just some idiot who was hopelessly infatuated with her. She even considered him to be her friend.

And then the… accident happened.

She took his hand, and he looked at her. Lydia gave him a small tug, and he nearly stumbled as she led him down the hall.

* * *

They returned to their hotel that evening, after taking a quick tour through the NYU. Lydia had insisted on checking out the Department of Mathematics and Stiles had just nodded, uncharacteristically quiet throughout their search for it. When Lydia chatted with some students (they were taking extra courses during the summer) Stiles just watched, leaning against the wall with his eyes downcast.

It was frustratingly heartbreaking to see him like that.

* * *

Their room was spacious, with two queen-sized beds, a flat screen TV and a set of couches in the corner. Stiles seemed surprised that she had booked them the same room, but Lydia had merely rolled her eyes, saying that there were two beds and that they were both mature enough to handle sharing the same space at night. Besides, her parents were paying for the trip, and Mrs. Martin trusted them to not lose each other in New York.

"Get cleaned up," Lydia told him, nodding toward their bathroom. The rain had stopped earlier, but they were still damp from the former downpour. Stiles gave her a quizzical look. Lydia sighed. "I want to have dinner at the restaurant downstairs. But if you're too tired, we can get room—"

"Restaurant sounds great," said Stiles. He gave her a small, reassuring smile, but he wasn't fooling her.

Lydia watched him entered the bathroom, her hands on her hips. She didn't move until she heard the water run.

Lydia walked to the closet, where she had hung up her clothing the night before. She picked out a sleeveless green dress that cinched nicely at the waist, and laid it out on her bed. Stiles was quick; he was out in five minutes, redressed in his earlier clothes.

"No jeans or T-shirt," Lydia told him firmly. She headed past him, her dress in her hands, and locked the bathroom door. The water was hot and the shower pressure was like bullets in its intensity. Lydia allowed the water to cascade down her body, and she closed her eyes. After lathering her hair with strawberry-scented shampoo and matching conditioner, Lydia rinsed and stepped out of the shower, and dried herself off. She reapplied her lip gloss and mascara, and pulled her dress over her head. She wasn't in the mood to curl her hair, so she combed it silently.

"Hey," she said as she stepped out of the bathroom. Stiles was wearing a dress shirt and black pants, sitting on his bed. He was on his phone texting, and Lydia guessed that he was probably talking to Scott.

Stiles looked up, and dropped his phone on the bed. Lydia turned around, revealing the open zipper on the back of her dress. Stiles nodded, and stood up. He walked up to her, and Lydia held her hair out of the way as Stiles zipped her up, and stepped away.

"Thanks," she said. She headed toward the door, and looked over to see if Stiles was coming.

* * *

The restaurant was half-full by the time they got there. Their waiter soon came over, his bangs sticking out in front of his brown, revealing his wide eyes and electric smile.

"Blimey, did you see that storm out there earlier?" he asked, handing them their menus. He had a strong accent that sounded British with a thin layer of Scottish underneath. "I reckon it's not natural."

Lydia and Stiles exchanged looks. The waiter's nametag read "John" on it. Lydia smiled sweetly at John, and ordered water, which Stiles ended up getting as well. John grinned, and kept looking at them like he was expecting something exciting to happen. John whisked away, his entire being buzzing with energy.

* * *

The Doctor had a feeling about those two—and what a feeling it was! He was positive that he'd met them before, but _when_ was the question. The future—well, _their_ future, his past—was quite probable, and he took comfort in that fact. Whatever happened tonight, they would make it out of here unscathed and survive the event was unfolding around them.

The 60 Thompson Hotel gave him the perfect view of the center of the storm, and the Doctor had decided to lay low there until midnight, where he was sure it would reach its peak. Playing waiter was something that he hadn't done in a while, and he felt spiffy in a bowtie, for some strange reason…

He envied the girl for her ginger hair, but admired her professionalism and wit. And the boy… the Doctor just knew that for whatever reason that they were there, it was no coincidence that they had ended up in New York City.

The chefs gave him weird looks when he requested the glasses of water. He was a fresh face to them and probably seemed… well, a little weird, but his psychic paper "proved" that he was a qualified waiter, and he would just have to keep up the charade until the restaurant closed.

The TARDIS was parked on the roof, with all of the equipment he needed prepared and waiting for him. The Doctor took the glasses of water, and whisked them away, condensation dripping down the sides. He brought them back to the boy and girl, grinning wildly. The girl looked a bit unnerved at his strange happiness, and gave him their orders. The Doctor had an urge to recommend something banana-themed, but held his tongue.

He watched the two of them as they ate their meal, until his "manager" came over to yell at him for slacking off. "Just to tell you," he told the man, who was short-tempered and haughty-looking, "I'm quitting after tonight." The Doctor then shoved his night's tips into the pocket of a waitress passing by, and grinned. The waitress looked down, feeling the wad of Americans stuffed in her black apron, looking light-headed at the bulk of it. The Doctor gave her a small wave before grabbing Table 10's order and skipping over to it.

* * *

It was five to midnight, and the Doctor found himself on the roof, after changing back into his brown suit and long coat. He opened the door to the TARDIS, and dragged out the machine that he'd pulled together earlier that day. The storm was unexpected and had an ominous feeling to it, making it impossible to ignore.

Now there were streams of white coiling into it, meshing with the purple-black and splashes of blue. The Doctor looked straight up, and sure enough he saw the eye of the storm. A literal eye, to be exact. Foggy, vertical slits ran up and down the misty blue iris, staring down at him. It blinked, and suddenly the blustering winds and freezing air dispersed.

"Hello you," the Doctor shouted. He pointed to the machine, and flipped a switch. The hose at the end shot straight up into the air, and began to suck down tendrils of the storm down into itself. The Doctor had installed a containment unit on the side, in order to collect the strange essence.

The eye blinked again, and sheets of purple rain began to fall down on him. By then, the Doctor had gotten enough of a sample to be satisfied, and was hauling the machine back into the TARDIS before coming back outside to try to reason with the creature.

Because that's what it was. It was no natural Earth storm, but a massive creature from another world. It had disguised itself as a storm cloud.

What a clever beauty it was.

"Something caused you to be here," said the Doctor. "And believe me, I'm going to find out why." He spat out the purple rain from his mouth. It tasted like raspberries and salt, and the Doctor realized that it was its tears.

A great growl came from the sky, and the Doctor took that as his cue to retreat. He jumped into the TARDIS, and shut the doors just as an incredible force slammed into its side. The Doctor slammed into the floor, sliding across it as the TARDIS tumbled to its side.

"What the—" he began as the TARDIS began to whir and move on its own. It shuddered violently, and the Doctor felt the familiar movement as they took over, going through time and space. But this time, it was not of his own accord.


	5. Insane

The institute that Connors was being held in was quiet, save for a few manic groans coming from the other patients. Nine flashed the psychic paper at the guard, saying he had clearance to see his "patient". The guard looked at it blankly, his eyes glancing wildly over it and blinked sleepily at the Time Lord.

"What about him?" the guard asked, giving Eleven a suspicious look. Nine gave Eleven a once-over, glowering at the ridiculous tweed jacket and bowtie. Was he seriously going to be dressing up as a stuffy old professor in a few regenerations' time?

"My colleague from the university," Nine replied. "He's writing a paper and needed clearance to get this far. It would be terribly rude of you to deny him this opportunity." Eleven quickly pulled out his own psychic paper, shoving it in the guard's face. He had a goofy expression on his face, making Nine want to roll his eyes from second-hand embarrassment.

"Alright, alright," the guard grumbled. There was a badge pinned to his chest: it read, "Blake".

"Why do you want to see the mad lizard-man at such a late hour, Dr. Smith?" Blake asked, as he led them down the hallway. The guard's longish, dirty-blonde hair was gelled back, with a cap covering the rest of it, and his attire was wrinkled and ill-kempt. Blake looked burned out; he yawned loudly as they passed through the hallway of cells.

"Connors is a special case," Nine told him. "There's no such thing as a 'late hour' to make an appointment with the man." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eleven scanning the cell doors with his sonic screwdriver. Blake didn't seem to hear it buzzing from behind them, so Nine just left his future self to his own devices for the moment.

"He's special alright," Blake said wearily, stopping to scan a door with a key card. The lock pinged, and a green light overhead blazed brightly overhead. Blake opened the door, allowing the two to go through. "The only crazy thing he does nowadays is write formulas all over the walls. Can't make heads or tails of it, but at least he's not turning this place into a reptile museum."

"Good to hear," replied Nine. All of this was taking too long; they should've parked right outside of Connors' living quarters. Who knows what sort of havoc that that madman was wreaking on the universe with his—Eleven's, er, _their_—TARDIS? He had the power to stop Time, and that was just the tip of the iceberg if they allowed the villain to complete his plan.

Whatever that plan was, Nine wasn't sure. Either way, it bode ill for the universe at large. _That_ he was certain of.

"Here you go," said Blake, stopping outside one of the rooms. The window was blacked out, and the door was made of thick, impenetrable steel.

Nine looked at the wall, where "LEVEL NINE" was etched on it in large, block letters. He frowned, remembering the layout of the facility from the blueprints that he had looked up earlier.

"Did they happen to move him to a less-secure area, by any chance?" Nine asked Blake.

The guard blinked, looking confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "He hasn't been relocated since he arrived here last year." His hands were clasped behind his back as he gave Nine a quizzical look.

"John," Eleven said, nodding at Eleven. The other Time Lord looked up from his screwdriver that he'd been inspecting for the past three minutes, giving Nine his full attention for once. "Don't you recall there being at least another six levels before reaching the maximum security of this place?"

Eleven gave him a look of realization. "Yes, that's true," he replied, nodding furiously.

Nine turned to Blake, and gave him the smuggest smile that he could muster. "Your eyes never really did focus on the psychic paper earlier," he said, pulling out the object in question. He held it up; it was completely blank. "This would allow you to see exactly what I want you to see. Usually when there's something on a white piece of paper, even a dot, the human eye immediately focuses on it.

"But you, your eyes went all over it, as if you were confused at what you were supposed to be looking at. And yet, you went along with it…"

It was at this point that Nine could hear a faint crackling coming from behind Blake. His appearance momentarily shifted from wearing a guard's uniform to that of attire with a brown trench coat and black, pointed shoes…

Blake gave the Time Lords a lop-sided grin. "You caught me," he said, and pulled his hands out from behind his back, and shot a ball of electricity at Nine.

The Time Lord ducked, and just in time. The ball collided into the cell door, causing it to dent and collapse into itself. Nine deftly pulled out his own sonic screwdriver, and aimed it at Blake. Meanwhile, Eleven pointed his screwdriver at the man, causing his next attack to implode in his hands. It drove Blake backwards, and he collided with the door that they'd just entered from. His body slid down, and slumped against the ground.

"You called it psychic paper?" said Blake. "Sorry, only works when the mind is only using ten percent of the brain."

"You're using more than ten?" Nine scoffed. "What sort of human are you?"

"Human?" Blake laughed softly. "No, never human. Sorcerer, on the other hand…" He lifted his hands, and shot another electric ball from his hands. Nine jumped to the left, getting steadily annoyed by the man.

"I haven't run into a sorcerer for three hundred years," he said, glowering at Blake.

"Then it seems to me that you've been extremely ignorant or not looking in the right places," Blake replied. "We're not easy to find; there's not many of us left."

"Stuff the sob story," Nine said. "I've heard enough to last several lifetimes."

"But mine comes with a twist," the sorcerer said, jumping to his feet. He aimed his hand at Eleven, who was still pointing his screwdriver at him. "Mine has a happy ending, and I don't need the likes of you messing it up."

Blake shot a clear ball at Eleven, which expanded into a wavering, jelly-like substance that covered the Time Lord. It seemed to affect Eleven significantly, making his movements slow and sluggish. Nine leapt at Blake, who shot another one of those balls at him. Even though Nine ducked his head, the ball seemed to be like an aiming missile, and struck him. Nine watched helplessly as Blake raised his hands, and tore the door leading to Level Ten like it had been paper.

* * *

Balthazar was hoping for no trouble when he came to the facility, but naturally something had to blow up in his face. When "Dr. Smith" and "John" had shown up (he had no choice but to believe that those were false identities) asking after Connors, he made sure that he would be the one to intercept them.

There was trouble in the air, and Balthazar couldn't afford to stay out of the action. Several days ago, there were reports of the strange storm clouds hanging over New York City. He remembered such an event had only occurred once before, and that had been the night that his mentor had died.

His former apprentice was here in the city, and even _this_ would be too much for him to handle with his massive powers alone.

It wouldn't be the first time that Dave would have to save the world.

For now, he had to hurry and find Connors.

* * *

It only took another twenty minutes for Balthazar to find the doctor's cell. The sorcerer closed his eyes, blinking once before focusing his power in his fingertips. He dragged them lightly over the digital lock on the door, watching as the keypad below it pressed down on the correct combination. The lock clicked, and Balthazar swung the door open.

"Evening Connors," Balthazar said, looking at the man in question.

Connors was perched at the edge of his bed, his hands clasped in his lap. He was staring at the wall across from him, where a maelstrom of equations was scribbled frantically across the bleak whiteness of it.

"A bit late to call upon a madman, isn't it?" Connors said, still staring at the wall.

"It will be if we don't get you out of here," Balthazar replied, stepping into the cell. He carefully closed the door behind him. "The hour's at hand and rumours say that you will play a vital part in all of this."

The corner of Connor's mouth twitched. "I nearly destroyed this city once," he replied coolly. "My part is over. I cannot offer the world any more of my 'services'."

"These are different times, Connors," Balthazar urged. "Have you seen those storm clouds gathering outside your window? That's no ordinary weather pattern. Something's about to happen, and I'm gonna need all of the brainpower that I can muster."

Connors smiled, but his eyes were hard and distant. "You're not an actual prison guard, are you?"

"I've used the guise a couple times over the years," Balthazar replied. "It's old hat now."

"And how do you measure years, Blake?" Connors asked. He stood up, still staring the wall as he reached for a Sharpee on his desk. He walked over to one of the equations, and added a few more numbers to the end of it. He turned to Balthazar, looking at him for the first time. "Do you calculate them into decades, or centuries?"

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "How long has that hypothesis been rattling around in your brain, Doctor?"

"Long enough," Connors said. "You always seemed to be older than your years. Your attire right now adds to that theory."

Balthazar looked down; his security guise had morphed back into his regular Merlinean trench coat ensemble. "You got me," he said, holding his hands up lazily.

"What are you?"

"A sorcerer," Balthazar said bluntly. "I've lived too long and I've seen too much. I should know when something like that calamity above us means trouble."

"What do you plan to do about it then?" Connors asked wearily, absentmindedly drawing on an inch of empty space he'd just happened to find.

"Stop it, naturally," the sorcerer said, watching as Connors added eight legs to a round, black body.

A spider. How fitting, given the circumstances that landed him here in the nuthouse.

"All on your own?" Connors sneered, turning to face Balthazar. "Not every obstacle can be taken down with the power of a single man."

Balthazar gave him a lopsided grin. "It just so happens that my apprentice is here in town."

Connors raised an eyebrow. "Apprentice?"

"He has an affixation for Tesla coils. A science kid; you'd probably like him."

The doctor huffed under his breath. "You could say that I had something of an apprentice once," he muttered, but his eyes held a fond look. "It all backfired on me, though. Who's to say that it won't happen to you?"

"It won't," Balthazar said, perhaps a little too quickly. But he was confident in his plan. Truth be told, he had respected Dave's wishes for a normal life by returning to England after his initial training had been completed. Dave had fulfilled his destiny; it was time for a break for all of them.

If he could, Balthazar would keep him out of this new dilemma, but since it was happening on Dave's home turf, he knew that that option had been dashed out long ago.

Connors shook his head. "I cannot help you," he said curtly. He nodded toward the door. "You should leave before security arrives on their patrol."

"There won't be a problem with that," Balthazar replied coolly. "I reckon they'll be held up trying to deal with a couple of fraud doctors at the moment."


End file.
